A Twist in the Tale
by Shiv5468
Summary: Crookshanks takes steps to oust his rival. There's only room for one ginger in Hermione's life, and it's him.
1. Default Chapter

Hermione couldn't sleep. She had tried counting sheep, she had tried breathing exercises, she had even tried a quick fumble under the sheets, but nothing was working.  
  
Bugger it.  
  
She decided to find the kitchen and make herself a nice hot milk drink. If she added enough brandy that should do the trick. She tucked her wand into her dressing gown pocket where she could easily reach it. 12 Grimmauld Place had never really felt safe to her; there were too many booby traps.  
  
It was dark when she entered the kitchen, so she didn't notice the figure slumped in a chair resting his head on the table. She cast a faint lighting spell, and moved over to the saucepans.  
  
She was just pouring some milk into a pan, when a sudden sound behind her made her jump. She turned round sharply to see Sirius Black at the table, obviously having been woken from a sleep by her entrance into the kitchen.  
  
"S.sorry, Sirius," she stuttered. "I didn't know you were there. Aren't you supposed to be dead," she added curiously.  
  
"Yes," he said. "But that was just a ploy to throw the Ministry off the scent. I just ducked behind the scenery, I get reported as dead, and they call the aurors off. Dumbledore's idea. Brilliant man."  
  
"Oh," she said. "Is someone going to tell Harry? He's very upset about your death, you know."  
  
"Not until he's mastered Occlumency. It's too risky. So mum's the word, Hermione." He smiled warmly at her.  
  
"Of course, Sirius. Whatever you say." She smiled back. "Would you like some warm milk; I'm just making some. I can't get to sleep, and I'm hoping it will help me drop off."  
  
"If you're having trouble sleeping, I might be able to help you with that." He moved towards her, coming to a halt just behind her. She felt uneasy. He was standing too close and she could feel his hot breath fanning her hair.  
  
"That's alright," she said a little shakily. She tried to move away, but he pressed up against her. She was trapped and more than a little frightened. He put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage the.  
  
"You're far too tense to sleep," he said, bending down to whisper in her ear.  
  
"Get off me," she hissed.  
  
"You know you don't mean that," he replied. "I've seen you looking at me."  
  
"What?" Hermione was beginning to get angry now.  
  
"You know you want me."  
  
"I bloody well do not," she shouted.  
  
He clamped his hand over her mouth. "Well you are going to get me anyway."  
  
"I'll tell Harry," she said, her voice muffled by his hand.  
  
"And who do you think he'll believe me, his beloved godfather back from the dead, or you?"  
  
She found she could reach her wand if she wriggled around a little. She calmly slipped her hand onto it and cast Stupefy. He slumped to the floor. She turned round and calmly kicked him in the ribs. "I rather think he would believe me, you twat, especially under veritaserum!"  
  
The sound of running feet heralded the arrival of Professor Snape and the Headmaster. They took in the scene with a comprehensive glance, and once she had explained what had happened, it was the work of a moment for Dumbledore to cast Petrificus Totalis.  
  
He sighed, then prodded the recumbent Sirius with his foot. "We'd best leave him like this tonight, and then work out what to do with him." He levitated Sirius, and walked out of the room with Sirius's body floating along behind him.  
  
Snape watched him go, and then moved to follow him.  
  
"Professor!"  
  
Snape turned. "What, Miss Granger," he snapped.  
  
"Well, sir. It occurred to me that if I hadn't managed to deal with Sirius and he had succeeded, that Albus might ask you to comfort and look after me."  
  
"Probably, Miss Granger. He is, after all, demented."  
  
"And then one thing would lead to another. I would stop seeing you as a Greasy Git, you would stop seeing me as a Gryffindor Know-it-all, and at some point despite the horrific experience I would have undergone we would have fallen into each other's arms and shagged like bunnies."  
  
"Good god, Miss Granger, I hardly think ."  
  
"So I was just wondering, sir. Could I have the shag anyway? I mean, I am quite upset after all and need some comforting."  
  
"Oh very well, Miss Granger." He stalked off down the corridor. "Well, girl, what are you waiting for, keep up!"  
  
"Just as long as you do, Sir. Just as long as you do." 


	2. Time turner

A stitch in time  
  
She was a small child. Her hair was dark and curly and she was lost. She didn't recognise the place she was in, and she didn't recognise any of the people that were here, and she wanted her mummy and her daddy.  
  
Her little legs were tired, so she sat down and began to cry. "I . want . my . mummy!"  
  
Severus Snape did not like children. He particularly did not like noisy children. And worst of all in his opinion were noisy, crying children. He was therefore at a loss to explain why it was that he took an interest in the sobbing scrap of humanity sat in the middle of Hogwarts' quidditch pitch.  
  
When initial queries as to its identity and the location of its parents proved fruitless he picked 'it' up awkwardly, tucked it under his arm, and carried it towards the entrance to Hogwarts. At least it had stopped crying, although one second thoughts it could only enhance his reputation as a bastard if he was seen carrying a squalling brat.  
  
Heartless Snape who even made babies cry. He liked that.  
  
He discreetly pinched it to see if it would start up again, but it seemed to think it was funny and giggled.  
  
That would do his reputation no good at all. It was therefore with some relief that he greeted the arrival on the scene of Miss Granger. She was a girl, she had a womb and all the other necessary equipment for childcare, and therefore she was best equipped to relieve him of his little difficulty.  
  
He was rather surprised to find that she backed away in horror from the prospect of taking over, and that no amounts of threats of deduction of house points could change her mind.  
  
Apparently she didn't like children, although why this should concern him he had no idea. If he had known quite how much trouble being nice would cause, he would never have bothered. Served him right for breaking the habit of a lifetime. Still it was almost worth it to see the horror on the little Know-it-all's face when the child addressed her as Mama.  
  
He had never seen Hermione Granger move so fast, not even when the boys asked her to watch them playing quidditch and stop all that boring reading.  
  
It still left him with his little problem.  
  
Then the solution hit him. Dumbledore. He would take the child to Dumbledore, who would no doubt choke it with sweets and kindness, leaving him free to spend the afternoon contemplating the finer points of potion making in relative peace.  
  
Fortunately Dumbledore was in his office, and took an instant liking to the infant. Unfortunately that didn't seem to be the end of the matter. Apparently he was expected to 'take an interest' although for the life of him he couldn't see why.  
  
That was when the small person dropped the bombshell. She, apparently it was a she according to Albus, pointed at Snape and said, "Dada".  
  
"I am not your father, child," he said severely, but it just giggled again and repeated the word.  
  
"Dada."  
  
"No, dear, he doesn't teach Dada, he teaches potions," teased Dumbledore. "Where's your mama, little one?"  
  
"She is apparently in the Gryffindor Tower doing her homework, Albus," he sneered. "She identified Hermione Granger as her mother not five minutes ago."  
  
He didn't like the look of understanding that crossed his face.  
  
"What?" he said nervously. "Come on old man, spit it out."  
  
"You know what we have here Severus? Your's and Hermione's child, come to us from the future. There must have been an accident with a time turner that brought her here."  
  
Severus found there was nothing he could say to this. Travel by time turner was the least preposterous aspect of the whole situation. He and Hermione Granger. He, Hermione and a child. But he didn't like children. She must have tricked him, told him she had taken her contraceptive potion, and then pretended they had had a little accident.  
  
The little bitch!  
  
When he calmed a little, he reflected that it was more likely to have been a true accident; judging by her reaction she had no more liking for children than he had. How then had this come about? However it happened he would make damn sure that any future - relations - that occurred between he and Miss Granger would involve casting both the female and the male contraceptive charms and both of them taking potions. There was no point taking risks, and damn the consequences for the stability of the universe if they broke the laws of causality!  
  
He thought that the day had reached its nadir, but there was worse in store.  
  
Dumbledore expected him to fetch Hermione Granger and inform her that their child from the future was in the Headmaster's office, and would she like to come down and see her. Despite his assurances that the answer was likely to be a very forceful 'no', he was despatched to find her.  
  
Fortunately for him he found her sitting in the courtyard. He shuddered to think what sort of rumours would be flying through the school by tomorrow if he had had to enter the Gryffindor common room to find her. Although they could hardly be worse than the truth.  
  
He sat down beside her.  
  
"Miss Granger."  
  
She looked at him warily.  
  
"I think you should prepare yourself for a shock."  
  
Wariness had changed to tremulous anticipation, and expression he would have to get used to seeing on her face on a fairly regular basis. At least twice a week he thought, after the initial honeymoon period anyway.  
  
"The Headmaster believes that the child you saw me with earlier has travelled here by means of a time turner. Apparently you really are its mother."  
  
"Good god."  
  
"In deference to the fact that you have just had a nasty shock I wont deduct house points for that remark." He supposed he would have to get used to being conciliatory towards her.  
  
"Who. who is the father? At least it won't be Ron, not with that hair colour. Thank god."  
  
"Miss Granger, you may consider that Weasley would be the better candidate."  
  
She looked at him in puzzlement, and then with horror as the penny dropped.  
  
"You!" she said in tones of loathing. "You bastard. How the hell did you manage that?"  
  
"I imagine through the usual method." Although there could well have been a great deal of variety in the positions adopted, he reflected. He supposed if you were charitable you could pretend that all that bad temper she was displaying was in fact passion. On that basis he was a very passionate man; she should be grateful.  
  
"You know what I mean," she said impatiently.  
  
"I do." He sighed. "It's as much a mystery to me as it is to you. I can only imagine that there must have been some sort of accident. I can assure you that I would never willingly procreate."  
  
She snorted. "Me neither."  
  
They sat together in companionable silence, contemplating the future.  
  
"I never thought that you liked me very much," she said tentatively.  
  
"I don't."  
  
"Oh. Well it seems that you manage to overcome that distaste at least once."  
  
"So it would appear." He looked her over, and decided that on the whole the future didn't look too bad. "I don't suppose you have strong views on the suitability of house elves as nannies?"  
  
"Not if they are paid properly. I'm certainly not going to stay at home and look after any child; I intend to have a career."  
  
"I suppose we would have to get a house in Hogsmeade," he said thoughtfully. "You could hardly raise a family in the dungeons." He smiled; he could use the excuse of family responsibilities to wheedle his way out of all sorts of things Dumbledore wanted him to do. He was beginning to see the advantages to this.  
  
"Hmm," she mumbled. He realised that she was giving him an appraising look. He didn't mind. He knew that he passed inspection; the evidence was in Dumbledore's office.  
  
"Professor Snape," she asked, "it seems to me that we really ought to test the Headmaster's theory."  
  
"What did you have in mind, Miss Granger?"  
  
"We should see if we are sexually compatible. Perhaps a kiss?"  
  
"I hardly think that is necessary," he began, but couldn't complete the sentence as Miss Granger had pressed her lips to his mouth preventing him from speaking. Since she was so determined he thought it would be rude to say no, and began to kiss her back with enthusiasm. Apparently this was to her liking, as her fingers came up to twine in his hair and her tongue was busy in his mouth.  
  
They only separated when a harassed woman came hurrying towards them. "Have you seen my Shirley?"  
  
Severus was just about to say something cutting, when Miss Granger butted in. "A small girl, about so high, with dark, curly hair?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
"You should try the Headmaster's office, through there. A house elf or a student will show you the way."  
  
There was silence after the woman left for a solid ten minutes as they both tried to think of something to say, other than 'oh shit, what have we done?' Dumbledore really was an idiot sometimes, the way he leapt to conclusions. He was worse than Trelawney sometimes.  
  
Hermione broke the silence first. "We wouldn't have to live in Hogsmeade, if you didn't want to."  
  
"No, I suppose not," he said slowly. "Not if we didn't actually have any children."  
  
They both shuddered at the word.  
  
"We could just settle for lots of reading and wild sex," she offered.  
  
"Yes, I think that would probably be for the best. I mean, I like children ."  
  
"But you're never sure you could eat a whole one, I know."  
  
He smiled at her, and she thought he looked almost handsome. She smiled at him, but he was too busy peering down the front of her shirt to notice.  
  
"Would you like to come back to my rooms, Miss Granger. I have some particularly fine first editions that you might be interested in?"  
  
"Why yes sir, that would be very pleasant. And then, perhaps you could shag me senseless against the Dungeon walls?"  
  
"I was thinking more of the sofa for the first time, then the bed, and only then the dungeon wall. Is that acceptable?"  
  
"Oh, yes." 


	3. Potions master?

Severus Snape considered himself the master of potions making. In particular, he considered himself the master of making aphrodisiacs. He had taken a long hard look at himself in the mirror at age 17 and decided that he needed all the help that nature and a large collection of potions books could offer him.  
  
He could raise a fire in the blood of the most frigid ice queen, a fire that only he would be able to quench. The only problem was that the potion worked only the once, and only for one night; after that, the woman's feelings would return to normal. There was many a woman with fond memories of a night of passion with the Potions Master but, oddly enough, no desire to repeat the experience, no matter how wonderful they remembered it to be.  
  
So here he was at the New Year's Eve party, surrounded by alumni and his colleagues and contemplating precisely who his target should be this year.  
  
He quickly dismissed Hermione Granger; he could afford to be picky and he had the horrible feeling that even under the influence of the potion she would continue to ask questions. It would be enough to put a bloke off his stroke.  
  
The new Dada professor was a possibility.  
  
He could see that her glass was empty, and decided to strike while he had a chance. He carefully filled a glass with punch, added a little flavouring of his own, and then strode over to her.  
  
Unfortunately, in the meantime Hermione had introduced herself to Professor Starke and was busily chatting away about a mutual interest in vampires. There was nothing else to do but insinuate himself into the conversation and offer her a drink regardless. He hoped she was good in bed, because he hated to think that he would have to endure ten minutes of Hermione Granger for anything less than multiple, mind-blowing orgasms.  
  
Miss Granger did not appear to be in need of any further alcohol. He therefore did not expect Professor Starke to thank him for his thoughtfulness, pass the drink on to Hermione, and then depart rapidly to the other side of the hall in search of someone she hadn't seen in simply ages. He watched her go with dismay, then turned back to Hermione.  
  
She looked at him with horror, but it was as nothing to the horror he felt looking at her and the glass in her hand.  
  
He was in trouble and he knew it. He either faced the prospect of coming clean with all the attendant embarrassment or a night of passion with frankly the most irritating student it had ever been his displeasure to teach.  
  
It was a hard decision.  
  
He took a long hard look at Hermione. Her hair was still bushy, but her figure was curvy in all the right places. If she could only be persuaded to keep her mouth shut it might not be too bad he supposed, and he was sure he could think of ways of keeping her mouth occupied. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more attractive the idea became.  
  
She was still looking at him with horror. She decided to bolster her courage with alcohol, and Severus watched in resignation as his fate was sealed. She seemed amenable when he suggested that she might like to go back to his quarters and look at some potions manuals. Once there she decided to make the first move and pinned him up against the wall.  
  
Severus was pleasantly surprised to find that Hermione was so frisky, and very relieved to find that whilst she was concentrating on seducing him she was indeed mercifully silent. He was amazed to find that she was the most enthusiastic, passionate and downright inventive lover he had ever had.  
  
So much so that he made the fatal mistake of falling asleep in a state of exhaustion at some point closer to early morning than late night, rather than kicking Hermione out into the cold of the dungeons before the effects of the potion wore off.  
  
So it was he found himself blearily opening his eyes to find Hermione looking at him with a very odd expression on her face. He braced himself for recrimination but she was silent; he began to wonder if this was a side effect of the potion. Perhaps this meant the potion was still having an effect, and he had several minutes grace in which to remove her before the shit really hit the fan.  
  
His attempt at conversation was forestalled by Hermione's kiss, and it was a good five minutes before, his attention focussed entirely elsewhere, he blurted out, "But the potion should have worn off by now!"  
  
"What potion?" she asked, although she seemed more interested in nibbling his ear than finding out the answer.  
  
And Severus, despite being a cunning Slytherin - not that you had to be that bright to realise that the truth was the last thing that was called for in the circumstances - continued down the path of truth and honesty with all the tact of a Gryffindor. "Cantharides potion."  
  
Fortunately for Severus, Hermione continued to have other things on her mind, and took the news rather well. Her lips were now moving against his neck, and she had to repeat her next question four times before it registered. "Where did you put it?"  
  
"The punch."  
  
"The punch?" She stopped what she was doing. "But I didn't drink the punch?"  
  
"You didn't?"  
  
"No, I put it down on the table next to me and picked up my glass of firewhiskey."  
  
"Good god." That meant that she actually liked him, found him attractive, wanted him. "You're sure?"  
  
"Yes, I'm sure," she said impatiently. "Now I'm sure you can think of something better to do with that mouth than just talk!"  
  
Hermione seemed to think that was the end of the discussion and returned to grazing her teeth against his neck. Severus found himself unaccountably nervous. Whilst he considered himself to be quite talented as a lover, he had rarely had a chance to practice those skills on someone who wasn't under the influence of at least one potion. Not knowingly anyway, although it seemed that last night's marathon shagathon had been wholly unaided.  
  
Fortunately she seemed quite happy to take the lead, and he decided to surrender to the inevitable and the inexorable Miss Granger. Thirty hectic minutes later a tired and dazed Severus was clasped firmly in the arms of a sleeping Hermione, running through variants of stamina potions in his head.  
  
It looked like he was going to need them 


	4. Dark revel

Dark Revel Parody - The Birthday Present  
  
Professor Snape had been summoned before his master yet again. Another Dark Revel in some cold, damp forest clearing, with all its attendant horrors. He had been greeted by Lucius, who had made his blood run cold when he said, "There you are, Severus. You didn't think we would let your birthday pass without a little gift did you?"  
  
Albus had given him a pair of socks for his birthday. What on earth would this collection of psychopaths and rapists give him? His own set of skinning knives as designed by Phillippe Starck?  
  
It turned out to be his very own Mudblood to play with. And not just any Mudblood either. Hermione Granger, side-kick to Potter, and ever-present thorn in his side. All he really wanted for his birthday was a quiet drink and the chance to read Moste Potente Potions in peace, not gift-wrapped victims. He was surprised that Lucius hadn't gone the whole hog and tied a pink ribbon round the poor girl.  
  
Now he had to try and think of some way to rescue Miss Granger without blowing his cover as a spy. It was bad enough turning 45 without this kind of crap in your life. Still if he did manage to pull off a spectacular and heroic victory, and provided say fifteen minutes of sympathy and a couple of glasses of brandy - for the shock Miss Granger - he might get a birthday shag after all. And in surroundings slightly more salubrious than this pisshole.  
  
He sneered.  
  
He was getting to old for shagging outdoors, and had never been fond of providing the evening's entertainment, even when he was younger. He thought there was nothing more unarousing than the sight of a skinny, white backside covered in goosepimples pumping away like a fiddler's arm; and he didn't think his backside was any more prepossessing than anyone else's in these circumstances.  
  
Oh, and of course, he was a reformed character.  
  
Not that there was a great deal to reform actually; a little light torture, no raping and no killing. He used potions for interrogations, which he considered to be more effective; his fellow Deatheaters thought he was a bit of a killjoy.  
  
He didn't even suppose that he would get a kiss on the cheek from Miss Granger even if he did manage to rescue her; instead she would rush off to seek consolation from either Weasley or Potter, with possibly a quick thanks to keep him warm.  
  
It hadn't been much fun being a Deatheater; and it wasn't much fun being a spy for the side of the Light. When this was all over he was going to retire to a tropical island with a couple of scantily clad young ladies and do bugger all for the rest of his life.  
  
Miss Granger looked relatively composed for someone supposed to be in imminent fear of a fate worse than death. He was quite impressed: no snivelling, no tears, but a quiet assessment of her situation. She hadn't given up hope, although it wouldn't have escaped her that her captors were unmasked. They clearly weren't worried about her reporting back to Dumbledore, which was ominous; he didn't think that they were planning to Obliviate her.  
  
Perhaps he could persuade the others that he should be allowed to unwrap his present in private, but he doubted it.  
  
Miss Granger wasn't surprised to see him. He hoped that this meant she was aware of his role as a spy, which would at least give him a better chance of getting her out of here in one piece. Two at the most.  
  
Voldemort, as always, was the last to apparate to the clearing. "Severus," he hissed, "What do you think of your birthday present?" He put a scaly finger under her chin and lifted her face. "I do think that a present this nice should be shared."  
  
Judging by the enthusiastic cheers of the other Deatheaters, this was a very popular suggestion.  
  
Miss Granger didn't even flinch. Her voice cut across the babble. "Don't you think that socks would have been more suitable or a winter vest. Hanging around in cold forests can hardly be healthy. Not to mention the fact that I think it's a little short-sighted of you not to have made some attempt to exploit my capture in more useful ways than as mere entertainment for half and hour or so."  
  
"Half an hour, Miss Granger? I'm sure my followers can manage better than that""  
  
"I doubt it," she said contemptuously. "Fifteen second men, if I'm any judge."  
  
Severus closed his eyes in disbelief. When he opened them, he was surprised to see that Hermione was still alive. He wondered whether she had hoped to hasten her end by annoying the Deatheaters into killing her quickly. Perhaps the comment about her being more useful alive than brutally tortured was a hint, and a hint that he ought to pick up on. He hoped she had something more inventive in mind than bringing Harry Potter to Voldemort. In the first place, he didn't think Voldemort would believe her, and in the second place, he wasn't entirely sure that Voldemort was eager to meet Potter in the near future.  
  
"How then do you suggest we exploit you, Miss Granger," he sneered.  
  
"Well, you agree to let me go, and I will tell you the name of the spy Dumbledore has placed in the inner ranks of your friends."  
  
Severus was hard pressed not to blanch. Miss Granger was going to throw him to the lions to save her own skin. He was in deep trouble.  
  
Voldemort was giving him a very pointed look. "How is it that Severus doesn't know of this traitor?"  
  
Good question, Snape thought. I only hope she has a good answer. One that doesn't include my name.  
  
She did.  
  
"Professor Snape doesn't know about this spy. Dumbledore wanted it kept secret from everyone in the Order. I only found out by accident. Even Harry doesn't know."  
  
Voldemort relaxed fractionally. Then he smiled as a particularly unpleasant thought crossed his mind. "I think that we can combine the two activities. After all, you can hardly expect to bargain for your life with information that we can no doubt prise out of you in other ways."  
  
From the glance that Hermione sent him, Severus could tell that he was supposed to take the next step in the evening's entertainment, but for the life of him he couldn't see what she wanted. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Not even Veritaserum could drag that information out of me if I didn't want to give it."  
  
Oh. Veritaserum. He had a phial in his robes of the fake Veritaserum - the effects lasted for only the first minute and after that the subject was free to lie their heads off.  
  
"If I may, Master," he said. "A matter as important as this shouldn't be left to chance. You know my opinion on information extracted under torture; it's too unreliable."  
  
Voldemort nodded. Severus withdrew the potion. A scaly hand came to rest on his wrist. "I think we should test this on someone else first, just to make sure it's effective."  
  
A nervous Pettigrew was summoned, the potion administered, and a couple of embarrassing questions later Voldemort was reassured.  
  
Hermione struggled, but in vain. Two burly Deatheaters held her still whilst Snape administered the potion. Apparently she felt the need to spit in his face, which he thought was taking realism too far.  
  
"Who is the spy?" Voldemort asked.  
  
Severus had a moment of heart-stopping terror whilst he waited to see whether the potion had worn off already.  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
There was a murmur amongst the crowd.  
  
"Which one?" Voldemort queried.  
  
"Lucius."  
  
Hermione gave a very convincing display of someone overcome with remorse at their act of betrayal. She slumped between her two captors and snivelled.  
  
Lucius was busily protesting his innocence, when the first hexes began to fly. Hex first, ask questions later was the Dark Lord's motto and he was living up to it with a vengeance.  
  
Miss Granger seized her chance. In the confusion the men holding her slackened their grip. She twisted free, grabbed a wand and apparated out of the forest. Snape followed after her; he could always argue that he was trying to prevent her escape, and it seemed a better option than waiting to see whether Malfoy or Voldemort would be victorious.  
  
Miss Granger was waiting for him by the school gates. Surprisingly she seemed pleased to see him. "Thank god you're all right," she said. "I imagine it's a bit of a blood bath back there right now. I'm glad to see you had the sense to get out."  
  
"Miss Granger, I am a Slytherin. I am therefore more than capable of extracting myself from difficult situations. However, that was the most magnificent display of underhanded cunning that I have ever been privileged to witness."  
  
She blushed.  
  
"It should work out quite well for you," she said. "Malfoy will presumably be meeting his end about now, leaving the way free for you to rise in the ranks. You can tell Voldemort that you have convinced me and Dumbledore you were just on the point of rescuing me, so making your position here more secure, and then we can start feeding him disinformation. All in all, a good night's work."  
  
He sighed. "I suppose so."  
  
She looked at him very hard. "Or, we can tell Dumbledore that your cover was blown during the rescue and that you can't go back."  
  
He was shocked. "You mean lie to Dumbledore?"  
  
She nodded. "How much information do you actually get from these meetings?"  
  
"Not a lot."  
  
"Then by all means, let's lie to Dumbledore. It's not like he's straight with us, is it?"  
  
He thought about it. He could be free. He could tell Voldemort that Dumbledore was suspicious after this evening's events and kept him under close watch. He couldn't attend Deatheater meetings with Dumbledore spying on him. By the time either of them worked out what was really going on, the war should be over.  
  
"Miss Granger, how do you feel about tropical islands?"  
  
"I can take them or leave them," she said. "But right now I could do with a couple of glasses of brandy and a bloody good shag. Interested?"  
  
It looked like he was going to get a birthday present after all.  
  
Please continue to the next chapter The Dark revel parody - the pet 


	5. The Pet

Dark revel parody - the pet  
  
Severus was surprised when he woke to find Hermione still tucked up in bed beside him. He lay there, looking at the ceiling whilst his brain was working overtime; how could he make sure it was his birthday everyday?  
  
Hermione mumbled something in her sleep, and snuggled closer. He was just considering chancing his luck with the offer of a matutinal poke, when Dumbledore's head appeared in his fireplace.  
  
"Severus," he said in something of a panic, "Hermione Granger has been missing from her bed all night. We have no idea where she is. Be in my office in five minutes, this is urgent." Dumbledore's head disappeared before he had a chance to say anything.  
  
"Oh Fuck," said Hermione.  
  
"Oh god yes," said Severus.  
  
"Well, we'd better make the best of it. We'll just spin him a line about how you rescued me, and then something along the lines of me being too traumatised by it all to be left on my own."  
  
"Why didn't I take you straight to Madame Pomfrey?" he asked in exasperation. "He's bound to want to know that, and I'm damned if I can think of an answer that doesn't involve shagging, and the Headmaster is not going to look on that with any sympathy, I can assure you."  
  
"We'll think of something," she said. "I can always have a fit of hysterics if required. He can't ask you questions while I'm rolling around on the floor sobbing. It'll buy us some time to think of something convincing."  
  
"Good thinking," he said shortly, "Now get dressed, and lets get going."  
  
Hermione slipped into her school uniform, there were a couple of rips where Severus had been overly enthusiastic the night before. He was about to repair them with a quick charm, when she stopped him. "It'll add verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative: Look what the nasty Deatheaters did to me, Headmaster."  
  
They were in the Headmaster's office within the allotted five minutes, but it was a close run thing. Dumbledore was shocked to see Hermione, and sat open-mouthed for the couple of seconds it took for him to realise that his eyes weren't deceiving him.  
  
"Hermione," he said, "how glad I am to see you. What on earth happened, you look like you've been in the wars?"  
  
"Oh, Headmaster," she sobbed, "I was kidnapped. If it wasn't for Professor Snape here, I would have been raped and killed, I'm sure of it. He saved me," she gazed at him adoringly for a moment, before burying her head in her hands. She appeared to be shaking with silent sobs, but Severus thought she was trying very hard not to laugh out loud.  
  
Dumbledore was giving him a very hard look, and appeared to be on the brink of asking those awkward questions he had been hoping to put off. Suddenly inspiration hit, and he took the initiative. "I'm sorry that you were worried Headmaster, but I couldn't come to you last night to bring you the good news. But prudence required that Miss Granger spent the night in my rooms."  
  
"I fail to see why that was necessary, Severus." There was a very heavy hint in hi svoice that there had better be a very good reason for his actions.  
  
"You see, Headmaster, it's like this. I appeared at the meeting last night, to find Lucius had very kindly got me a birthday present. Miss Granger. Obviously I couldn't leave her to her fate, but I was anxious not to blow my cover. I therefore told Voldemort that Miss Granger would be most useful to our cause as a spy on Potter and the rest of the Order. He could see the value of the idea, but wasn't convinced that it was possible."  
  
Hermione's admiration was unfeigned now.  
  
"He was so clever, Headmaster. He convinced them that he had been working on me for some time, and that we had a." she blushed, "a close relationship that meant I would do anything for him. Voldemort swallowed it hook, line and sinker."  
  
"Malfoy, however, looked suspicious," said Severus. "He was doubtless wondering why, if Hermione was supposed to be my . pet, she hadn't mentioned this when she had been kidnapped. So, just in case he put that little ferret of a son to spy on us, Hermione spent the night in my rooms. I slept on the couch, needless to say."  
  
Dumbledore looked appeased. "What will you do at the next Deatheaters' meeting, though when you don't turn up with Hermione?" he asked.  
  
"I think, Headmaster, we have to face facts. If I don't turn up with Miss Granger at the next meeting I wont survive for long, Malfoy will see to it. I am sorry, but I think I may have reached the end of the road as a spy."  
  
He wasn't happy when Dumbledore suggested that Hermione might like to continue the charade so that he could continue spying. He was even less happy when Hermione, with typical Gryffindor 'bravery' assured him she would be prepared to do so.  
  
"Bugger", he thought. "I was this close to getting out of it all, and then she has to blow it."  
  
Dumbledore dismissed them to work out the finer details of their deception. Snape hurried them back to his rooms even faster than the trip to the Headmaster's office. "What the hell was all that about?" he shouted. "What happened to, we can lie to Dumbledore, you'll never have to go to a Deatheater meeting again."  
  
"I had a brainwave," she said. "Sit down, stop shouting, and I'll tell you. It's brilliant, even if I do say so myself."  
  
He sat down growling, "this had better be good!"  
  
"It is. Simply put, we now have a complete licence to carry on under Dumbledore's nose."  
  
"Yes, but at the cost of me risking life and limb and forgive me if I don't think it's worth it."  
  
"Who says you'll be risking life and limb. We sneak out of the castle, but we don't go to the meeting. We go to London, we have dinner, go and see a film, and then we apparate back to the castle and tell everyone what a brave, noble spy you are."  
  
"Well," he said doubtfully, "that may work, but how am I going to get the information to pass on to Dumbledore."  
  
"Simple. You ask Malfoy:  
  
Dear Lucius  
  
I am sorry I was unable to make the meeting today but Dumbledore is watching me like a hawk. What was decided?  
  
Love and kisses,  
  
Severus. "  
  
"Brilliant," he said. "Absolutely bloody brilliant."  
  
"And if you're really lucky, you'll still get your Order or Merlin, First Class."  
  
He smirked, "You may be right at that, my pet." 


	6. Dominance

Hermione was sitting on the sofa, reading the latest book on Potions, and idly wondering where Severus had got to. He was supposed to be home half an hour ago. She realised that there was something digging in to her back, so she scrabbled around in the cushions to find the offending article.  
  
A book.  
  
"Your witch and how to please her."  
  
Oh dear.  
  
Periodically Severus would confiscate these things from the children, read them, and be seized with the impression that there was something missing from their relationship. The last time he had bought her flowers, which was harmless enough, and much appreciated. The time before that he'd read an article on how he should be sensitive and caring and had spent ages following her around and asking her about her feelings.  
  
It had taken all of her concentration not to snap at him.  
  
Fortunately, these fads tended to wear off quickly and he would fall back into being the usual Severus: irritable, bad-tempered, but very good in bed. Just the way she liked him.  
  
A quick glance at the front cover showed her that she was in trouble. The book was full of suggestions on how to spice up your love life; Hermione had visions of being expected to throw herself all over the bedroom. It wasn't an attractive proposition; she was lazy.  
  
So when Severus sidled in, nearly an hour late, she restrained her desire to shout at him and simply wished him a good evening. There was plenty of time for trouble to develop later.  
  
And develop it did.  
  
He waited until they had finished dinner, passing the time with a desultory debate on whether it would be ethical to use the present Minister for Magic as potions ingredients. (Answer, perfectly, if you thought it was ethical to use flobberworms).  
  
"I've been reading," he said, a little hesitantly, "that some women like to be dominated during sex; that they like to be made to feel weak and powerless."  
  
"So, I'm told," she said cautiously, and intrigued a little in spite of herself.  
  
"I was wondering whether you might like to try that this evening."  
  
She sighed. She couldn't say no, not really, because it would hurt his feelings. She did hope that at some point he would realise that there was no need to keep trying to be a good husband, and that he could just be himself; until that happened, she would just have to put up with his occasional quirks.  
  
"If you'd like to," she said politely.  
  
"I spent a little time in the Library this afternoon, researching, and I think I've got it sorted out."  
  
Hermione was strongly tempted to look at him, mouth open, but managed to refrain from looking like a guppy. Dear god, she hoped that Pince hadn't seen him.  
  
"Ok," she said.  
  
They found themselves sitting side by side on the sofa, and he took her hand in his. She was faintly bewildered, where was the overwhelming passion, the tearing off of clothes, the pinning of arms, the beating down of resistance. Not that that sort of behaviour was unknown, it's just it was normally her doing it.  
  
"Did you know," he began in his best Professor's tones, "that women own less than 5% of the wealth in the world?"  
  
She didn't and she couldn't see the relevance.  
  
"Did you know that there has only been one female Minister of Magic in the entire history of the position?"  
  
Really?  
  
"Did you know that only 3 of the present Wizengamot members are women?"  
  
No.  
  
"Did you know that there has only ever been one Headmistress of Hogwarts?"  
  
She did know that, she had read Hogwarts: A History from cover to cover. More than once. She just didn't see what this had to do with sex.  
  
Oh.  
  
Severus's periodic bouts at being a 'good' husband were nowhere near as annoying as what passed for a sense of humour.  
  
"Ha, ha," she said, "very funny. Now I feel all weak and powerless, do you think we might get to the shagging?"  
  
He snorted with laughter, and then did as he was told. 


	7. Bumbledore's diary

Bumbledore's Diary  
  
Miss Granger really is the most aggravating person I know; bearing in mind the competition this is really quite an achievement on her part. Still she always was an over-achiever, and she has managed to surpass Flitwick with his habit of straining his tea through his teeth, which has always made my wand hand itchy at breakfast; McGonagall and that oh-so-pious exterior, honestly if she ever undid that bun I think her arse would drop off; Severus and his doom, gloom and moping – how seriously can you take that when he casts a charm on his robes to make them swirl dramatically – he may as well have Byronic hero sewn across the back in sequins; and Hagrid, who is as thick as bottled dragon dung, and should surely be put to sleep as a kindness to dumb animals.  
  
Dear god, how I hate them all. I've had an arsenic laden sherbert lemon sitting in the dish on my desk for years now; little do they know that they only way I can get through another sodding week at this hell-hole they laughingly refer to as a school is be getting them to play a complex game of Russian Roulette.  
  
There was a nasty moment during the course of the sixth book when Harry started choking on one and I thought the jig was up. Fortunately a bit of sherbert had caught on the back of his throat. I always said it was a mistake to name the books Harry Potter and...... I was very disappointed when that JKR person said that for marketing reasons they couldn't be called Dumbledore and the whatever foolish title she fancied.  
  
Surely everyone knows the books are about me.  
  
Severus, of course, always declines the sweeties. He was always too clever for his own good. Much like our Miss Granger. I suppose that is the attraction; she has always seemed far too lumpen to me to appreciate the Byronic approach. Perhaps I am being uncharitable. I do hope so.  
  
Particularly after this afternoons little bombshell.  
  
She requested a meeting this morning, ostensibly about house elves – so dull, who cares if they are enslaved, at least they have the decency to keep quiet about it – I agreed. There's nothing more amusing than a Gryffindor in one of its periodical fits of morality.  
  
I, of course, despite common assumption am actually in Slytherin.  
  
After all what could be more Slytherin than passing yourself off as a Gryffindor; people trust you so much more easily.  
  
So when Miss Granger hoved into sight as frizzy haired as ever, I wasn't looking forward to the meeting at all, and that was before she even moved onto the topic she was really interested in talking about.  
  
JKR.  
  
The book deal.  
  
And she wanted a cut.  
  
It was all that bitch Minerva's fault. She'd loaned Miss Granger that book on Alternate Universes, she'd done a bit of digging, and then she'd unearthed the truth. I had sold the story rights to Harry's fight against Voldemort to JKR, and that, occasionally, solely in the interests of the plot, and NEVER putting young Harry's life in danger – well there was that one time, but nothing serious – we would manipulate things to make them more interesting.  
  
It's a sad truth but life doesn't imitate art at all: not unless you give it a sharp poke up the bum with a broomstick from time to tome.  
  
I didn't even have chance to cast Obliviate before she told me that wouldn't work - very smug about it she looked too.  
  
I asked her what she wanted, and when she told me I was flabbergasted. Snape had to survive the end of the last book, as did Harry and Ron. Bang goes that ending then. JKR said it would be really touching if they all died together and it would really boost ratings.  
  
Apparently people like miserable endings. Which is odd, because they don't tend to in real life.  
  
Harry and Ron I could understand, but Snape?  
  
She wanted a share of the take; which was only to be expected. It took some really hard bargaining to force her down to 1% of the gross. Which will still make her a very rich young woman who will never have to sully her hands with work again.  
  
That's when she dropped the other bombshell – although the idea does have merit in itself – a sequel. Something to show what happened after the end of the books. And she wants to end up with Snape.  
  
Dear god the woman's mad. He may be all swirly cloaked but he still has a nose you could use as a pick axe. But apparently nothing other than our Severus will do, so Severus she will have to have.  
  
I don't look forward to breaking the news to JKR. Apparently she had some sort of nasty plot in stall for Severus, and now she will have to put that to one side.  
  
Miss Granger wants to see some outline plots by the end of the week. And she says nothing that involves her parents dying – apparently she is reasonably fond of them despite never having spent a holiday with them in the entire series – and nothing involving kidnap, rape or torture of either her OR Severus. And no working together on a cure for Lycanthropy, as far as she was concerned huddling together over a smelly potion was about as romantic as cleaning her teeth, and it would play merry hob with her hair.  
  
So JKR will really have to do something dramatic to put those two together. I mean, it's not as if it's likely is it?  
  
Oh, and she has to make sure that any love scenes are – what did she say – hot enough to melt the print from the paper.  
  
Still, what the silly girl doesn't know is that I'm on 20% of the gross. If the scenes are that hot, I think I can retire ten years early. 


	8. Teenspeak

Hermione moved briskly and efficiently, peeling, chopping, and dicing. She was, as ever determined to do well. The only fly in her potion was Neville. She could see out of the corner of her eye that he was on the verge of adding the crushed betel leaves to his mixture, some five minutes early.

"Neville," she hissed. "Not yet."

Professor Snape's head snapped up. Bugger. He had heard her. Cue five minutes sarcasm, the loss of house points and Neville-baiting of the highest order.

When Snape didn't say anything, Hermione didn't relax; she knew he had heard her. If he said nothing it could only mean he had something much nastier in mind.

And he didn't disappoint.

"Miss Granger, I think you should test your colleague's potion." He smirked in anticipation. The way Longbottom made his potions, she would be lucky to keep her lunch down.

Hermione cast him a fulminating glance, well aware of the likelihood of seeing lunch and breakfast again. She made a mental note to stand as close to Snape as possible; maybe she could make sure he was caught in the ensuing eruption. A quick gulp, the potion was swallowed, and the whole class waited with interest to see whether Hermione would turn green, burst into flames or grow feathers.

They were disappointed. Apart from a grimace at the taste, Hermione survived unscathed.

"Very well, Miss Granger, there's no need to take a curtain call. Sit down."

"Sure, Professor. I'm cool."

"You were lucky there," whispered Harry.

"Sh-ee-yaaah!" Hermione replied.

"Are you alright?" Harry gave Hermione a concerned look. She sounded a trifle peculiar.

"I'm awesome. Like, you know, why do you ask?"

"Professor Snape," said Harry. "I think there's something wrong with Hermione."

"Nonesense, Potter."

"I'm like totally awesome. Like, you know, don't have a cow."

"What did you say?" said Snape.

Hermione didn't bother saying anything, but was looking down at herself in horror. "Like, you know, what am I wearing. I look like a dweeb."

She withdrew her wand – Snape flinched, the rest of the class ducked – and cast a series of complicated charms, until she was more properly attired in a midriff-baring t-shirts that said "PORN STAR" in rhinestones across her breasts, and a pair of low-slung hip-hugger jeans which revealed the tattoo on her ass and the piercing in her navel.

Several of the more sensitive boys fainted, and Snape looked like he was going to have a fit. Harry looked worried, and was reduced to throwing an appealing glance at his teacher. Something clearly had to be done to reverse this appalling effect, before his friend was lost forever.

Professor Snape sighed. "Off to Madam Pomfrey with you. It's probably nothing, but I suppose we had better be cautious."

"Well, duh!"

Hermione, somehow, had managed to find some bubble gum, and blew a large, yet somehow dismissive, bubble that popped in the Snape's face. His lips worked soundlessly, until he managed to choke out the single word, "OUT!"

Hermione left. She may not be at her best, but she could tell that she'd pushed things too far.

Madam Pomfrey was surprised to see an apparently healthy Hermione Granger standing in her infirmary. On closer inspection though, she appeared to be very pale, and had some noxious substance in her mouth that she was masticating vigorously.

"What on earth is the matter with you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione launched into an impassioned speech. "Look! I slammed Nevilles potion because...," she pointed wildly in the general direction of the dungeons, "...HE MADE ME! - and now...," Hermione paused to wind a curl round her fingers, and flutter her eyelashes at Madame Pomfrey, "... and I've gotten like totally spazzed. I swear. You have to help me or I'll, like--"

"I'm sorry Miss Granger, I don't understand a word you are saying, other than something about Professor Snape and potions. Did this happen to you in a potions class?"

Hermione nodded. It seemed safer than trying to talk.

"I'll send for him at once. I'd better tell the Headmaster as well."

Hermione was relieved. She felt certain that the Headmaster would be able to sort this horrible problem out.

Professor Snape was the first to arrive. "What on earth is the problem, Poppy, surely you can sort this out without having to bother me?"

She snorted in exasperation. "A potion caused this, it seems to me that the most likely cure is going to be another potion. It's your problem, Severus, you sort it out."

"It will probably wear off in time," he snapped.

"It is, like, so totally not cool saying it will just like wear off if I just chill. Like, you know, no one can understand me and my report card is going to like mega suck. You like totally have to do something LIKE NOW." Hermione was indignant.

Seeing his blank expression Hermione realised he couldn't understand anything she was saying either. This was the perfect opportunity to tell him what she thought of him.

So she did.

"You are so The Man! Like, "Look at me! I'm the man! Bow down!" but you

are skanky!" she said, adding in a quieter voice, "You're an uberHottie, I SO want to do you!" before raising her voice again to conclude, "but a skank..."

"For heaven's sake, talk sense girl!" sneered Professor Snape.

"She said that she found you rather attractive and wants to make wild passionate love to you, Severus. I had no difficulty in understanding her at all," said Albus Dumbledore who was standing in the doorway to the infirmary.

"Oh fuck," Hermione said.

That needed no translation.

Albus came further into the room, and patted her hand soothingly. "Never mind, dear, I'm sure Severus will do all he can to help you with your little problem."

Professor Snape was still staring at Hermione with his mouth open.

"That is, once he has brewed the antidote for the potion," continued Dumbledore blithely.

Then it was the turn of Hermione to stare at the Headmaster with her mouth open. Surely he couldn't be suggesting... Not that Professor Snape seemed to be up for it, judging by the way he turned tail and almost ran for the dungeons. Still, she really ought to thank the Headmaster for being so understanding. "Dude, you rock. That was, like, totally awesome."

"Why thank you, Miss Granger. It's very kind of you to say so. Sherbert lemon?"

"Cool." Hermione carefully removed her gum, stuck it on the underside of the table, and sucked noisily on the sweetie.

When Professor Snape returned, nearly three hours later, he was clutching a vial in his hand.

"The antidote, Miss Granger."

She just nodded, and drank it. Whilst they were waiting for the antidote to take effect, Professor Snape said, "And before you ask, Miss Granger, I am aware you have suffered a nasty shock, and yes, you may have a shag to help you get over it. Shall we say 7.30 for 8.00?"

"Kewl."

Snape looked worried for a moment.

"Just kidding."


	9. It was a very fine cat

It was a very fine cat, as cats go. And as cats go, it went. All over Ron's Quidditch boots which he'd left on the back doorstep as usual despite her polite reminders.

"You'd better not let Ron catch you doing that," Hermione said severely. "Though it serves him bloody well right. Nagging, indeed."

The cat fixed her with a long, insolent stare, then flicked its tail at her.

"Well aren't you the snotty one. Purebred, though, by the look of you, and a lovely colour."

The cat condescended to be stroked behind the ear.

"I can see why Professor Snape calls you Lucius."

She could have sworn the cat laughed at her.

* * *

Ron wasn't laughing when he saw the damage that had been done to his boots.

"Why the hell didn't you bring them inside?" he shouted, all red-faced and bulging eyed.

"Not my job to pick up after you," she said. "I'm not your mother." One day, she thought, he'd have an aneurysm, shouting like that.

"No, you're not."

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked coolly.

"You know exactly what I mean." Ron took a deep breath, and changed tack. "I swear you did it on purpose."

"If you think I crapped in your boots, Ron, you're being more stupid than usual."

"I meant that you persuaded Crookshanks to do it. That bloody cat hates me."

"I can't persuade Crookshanks to do anything he doesn't want to. No one can ever make a cat do anything."

Ron glowered at her. "You're always sticking up for that bloody thing."

"Probably because he's innocent. The same way he was when you thought he was trying to eat Pettigrew. It wasn't Crookshanks, It was Professor Snape's familiar. So that's two cats that don't like you. I wonder if you tried to kick Lucius, the same way you tried to kick Crooks last week. Don't think I didn't notice."

"I just pushed him with my foot to make him move, and got a foot-full of claw in return. Vicious brute – and wait a minute, did you call that bloody cat Lucius? Did Snape call his cat after Mr Malfoy? That's just odd, sitting there of an evening with Lucius on his knee."

Crookshanks, as if hearing his name, sauntered into the room with his tail cocked at a jaunty angle, and jumped up into Hermione's lap. She crooned nonsense into his ear, whilst scratching just that spot behind his ear.

"I swear that cat is smirking at me," Ron said, his good humour at the thought of Snape stroking Lucius and all the dirty jokes he bring up over the dinner table fading under the joint hostile stares of human and cat.

"Cats don't smirk, do they, Crooks?" Hermione said, in the face of all the evidence, and pulled Crookshanks closer. "Not even at nasty men who deserve it."

"I'm going to the pub!" Ron's progress through the house could be determined by the thump of the lounge door behind him, the banging of the kitchen door on the way through, and the final slam of the back door behind him.

"I don't think he's very pleased with you," Hermione said. "I'd keep out of his way for a bit, until he calms down."

Crookshanks settled himself more firmly on his mistress' lap and began to purr.

* * *

Crookshanks was a forgiving cat, not inclined to bear grudges beyond a decade or so.

The Ginger One did not require the holding of grudges because he just kept on being horrible.

He liked his pet. She was properly considerate of his feelings, admiring the mice he fetched her to show his affection, warming his cushion for him, and always feeing him the choicest tidbits. Her hair was not all he had hoped for in an owner, but he had come to appreciate her loyalty and her consideration for others.

It was just a shame that consideration extended to the Ginger One.

* * *

Crookshanks strolled off to find the white cat, and sound him out as a potential ally.

Lucius was sitting in the drawing room, as close to the fire as he could get without burning, and was licking his genitals with enthusiasm.

Crookshanks settled down in a patch of sunshine and waited politely for Lucius to finish his business. Lucius gave one last, loving stroke, then stretched out luxuriantly, displaying all his claws in studied nonchalance.

"You have been a familiar to the Dark One for some time?" Crookshanks asked.

"You might say that," Lucius replied, and yawned elegantly. "I have known him for some time, but only recently have I decided to take him as a pet."

"I hope he is well."

"Improving, thank you. And your pet, is she well?" Good manners dictated that Lucius ask.

"She is well." Crookshanks scratched thoughtfully behind an ear with his left leg. "And yet I am troubled."

"The Ginger One," Lucius said.

"The Ginger One. He is like a dog. A large clumsy, stupid dog. Worse than a dog. I have known some intelligent dogs with much to say about the world." Crookshanks' claws unsheathed themselves, a nervous reaction to saying something pleasant about dogs. But really, the Ginger One was that bad!

"I had noted this about him." Lucius shifted a little on the carpet, working out whether he had achieved the perfect pose combining comfort with being decorative.

"Your Dark One is not like this," Crookshanks said.

"I am fortunate in that regard." Lucius' tail twitched, a very little, at the tip, scenting a hunt.

"But perhaps needing a mate? Another pet to care for you. Your coat is soft and shiny and must need a lot of brushing. My pet is good at brushing."

Lucius' tail stilled. "You would give up your pet to another?"

"Either way I lose her – to you or to the Ginger One."

"Then let us plot, young kitten, and see what we may achieve."

Crookshanks swallowed down a protest - he was a cat grown and in his prime – and came closer to his rival so they could talk without interruption.

* * *

Severus measured his life in small victories – the first day out of hospital, the first trip to the loo on his own, the first day he got dressed, the first day he made it downstairs, and this, the final culmination of his progress, his first day spent on the sofa in the library reading a book.

Life felt new, and he revelled in the scent of the leather, the tang of the dust in the room, the faint, bitter tang of doxycide from recent attempts to clean the place, and the heft of a warm cat resting on his knee.

He ignored the sounds of shouting coming from the kitchen, and turned the page of his book. Granger and Weasley seemed to do more quarrelling than anything else, and one argument was much like another. He caught the word cat, and something about a dead mouse on Ron's pillow, and then there was more slamming of doors.

"Not going well there, I feel," Severus observed. "If I might trouble you to move to one side, so I can turn the page."

Lucius rolled lazily to one side, Severus turned the page, and Lucius arranged himself back into the old position, nose to the page.

A subdued mew from the doorway announced the arrival of Crookshanks, who stared at Severus with mournful eyes.

"Have you come in here for some peace and quiet? I don't blame you. Help yourself to the fire."

Crookshanks padded further into the room, then hopped up onto the sofa, curling up into a ball of fluff next to Severus, affront written into every line of his body.

Nothing was heard in the room but the crackling of the fire, the susurration of turning pages, the purring of cats and eventually human snores.

"Sit on the Dark One's knee whilst I leave another present for the Ginger One," Lucius said.

"But he's your pet."

Lucius flicked his tail in dismissal. "I give you permission to play with my pet. He needs the company, and you'll need an alibi."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Something evil," Lucius said, flexing his claws. "After today, your pet and the Ginger One will not be talking to each other."

Severus was new to being owned by a cat, and had no idea how a pet should comport himself. He noticed Hermione's familiar staring at him long and hard, but did not arrive at the obvious conclusion that Crookshanks was up to something, even when the cat launched himself onto the sofa, and thence onto his knee.

"I don't suppose you have strong views on reading material," the Dark One said. "Lucius has very fixed views – nothing past the Victorians. How about some Poe? _The Purloined Letter_?"

Crookshanks mewed.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Crookshanks was used to dealing with readers. He had the art of securing strokes between page-turns down to a fine art. The Dark One's knee wasn't as comfortable as Hermione's but that could be solved by fattening him up a bit.

For a moment, Crookshanks dared hope that Lucius could be persuaded to let his pet go. Lucius was a fine cat who could have any pet he liked, surely he could do better than the Dark One? If he put it like that... He sighed, and wondered what sort of person his next pet would be.

* * *

Crookshanks was a mighty hunter, who slept with an ear and an eye open for trouble, and it was just coincidence that Ron should burst into the room at a time when he was in the middle of changing eyes so that both were closed.

"You little bastard," Ron snarled.

The Dark One was a bit trigger happy, Crookshanks thought, but in the circumstances ... the Ginger One looked much better unconscious.

The whole household was attracted by the ensuing crash as Ron was precipitated out of the room into the hall, fetching up in the coat rack with a thump, spark out.

Crookshanks noted that his mistress made no attempt to help the fallen boy, but came straight to him.

"Are you all right?"

Crookshanks mewed his gratitude at having such a considerate pet.

"And you, Crooks, of course." Crooks was gathered into his pet's arms, and scratched behind the ears just where he liked it. "I can't believe that Ron was stupid enough to draw his wand on you of all people, Sir. I'm so sorry."

"You're not responsible for the actions of your buffoon friends."

Behind his pet, Crooks could see the Ginger One being helped to his feet by the others. Lucius watched with cool calculation as the boy was escorted out of view to the kitchen for first aid and a cup of tea.

"He just has this thing about Crookshanks being out to get him, and he acted without thinking," his pet said.

"Not for the first time."

Crooks could tell that the Dark One was unhappy. He squirmed free of his pet, and slipped onto the Dark One's knee, poking at him with his paw, inviting him to stroke him. That always made his pet feel better.

The Dark One's fingers were a little unsteady as they moved through Crooks' fur, but they steadied as the effects of the stroking took hold. Crooks purred in approval. A calm pet was a good pet.

"So what set him off this time?" the Dark One asked.

"Someone, or rather somecat, found the stash of porn he'd hidden under his bed and shredded it. Disgusting stuff too, all... well, never mind. I do think that was quite inspired of Lucius. "

Lucius, hearing his name, came further into the room and sat at Hermione's feet. She bent down and picked him up, stroking his tummy.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Severus. "He's a bit temperamental."

"No he's not. He's a good cat, aren't you Lucius?" Lucius looked up at Hermione with half-closed eyes and purred loudly. "In a bad cat sort of way."

Crookshanks mewed anxiously. It would be hard to part with his pet. She had such talented fingers.

"He might bite," Severus added, watching them with a strange expression, half concern, half laughter.

Hermione laughed. "Not if he wants to get his tummy rubbed again, and you do, don't you? There's good boy."

"He's certainly easy," Severus said. "I'm shocked and appalled by his behaviour."

"That's cats for you. Utterly without morals."

"Yes," said Severus slowly. "How true."

Lucius wriggled again, attracting Hermione's attention to his neglected tummy.

* * *

Crookshanks tried to be cheerful, now that he'd got his own way. The Ginger One had retired to the Burrow muttering darkly about cats out to get him and disloyalty, and the Dark One and his pet were spending time together in the library sharing books and taking turns in stroking Lucius.

He stayed in the kitchen, by the Aga, and shredded a few mice.

It didn't really help his mood.

His pet was only his pet again when it was bedtime. He still had footwarming duties to perform.

It was only a matter of time before that was taken over by the Dark One. At least it wouldn't be Lucius curling up against her back. The one time he'd tried that, Severus had been summoned to his pet's room to collect his cat, and had stood there stammering at the sight of Hermione in her nightgown.

Lucius maintained that was why he'd been there, but Crookshanks could tell he was lying. It still worked though. After a couple of days of their pets turning pink whenever they bumped into each other, and exchanging longing looks, Hermione stumped into the library, shooed Lucius out to the kitchen, and shut the door.

"Are they mating yet?" Crookshanks said.

"Well on the way," Lucius replied, and washed his ear. "It's a shame they didn't let me stay."

"You'd like to watch them mating?"

Lucius nibbled at a hair that was out of place on his forepaws. "I admit to being curious."

"It's disgusting. I saw it once. At least it doesn't last long."

"I think my pet can do a bit better than that," Lucius replied.

Crookshanks had the feeling that Lucius was laughing at him.

* * *

Hermione and Severus became almost inseparable in a quiet and understated way, and people learned not to go into the library without knocking first, though it was amazing the number of people who suddenly discovered a new interest in books.

"Still, I don't think I want to take the final step, as it were, under this roof," Severus said to the cats one afternoon when Hermione was off somewhere shopping. "There's always Spinner's End, I suppose, but that's miserable. Or a hotel, but that's sleazy. It'll have to be the house, and candlelight so she can't see the dirt, and hope that the books will keep her entertained in the morning while I sort the rest of the place out."

Lucius rolled on his back, proffering his stomach in mute invitation.

"Yes, I know you like her, and I'd remind you you're a cat." Severus scratched dutifully. "I wonder if someone could be persuaded to lend me a house elf."

Severus had the feeling that Lucius was laughing at him.

* * *

Packing for a dirty weekend away was subtly achieved – all items were packed, shrunk and discreetly tucked away in pockets and bags – until the time came to sort out the cats.

Lucius arranged himself decorously on the library carpet, and eyed the carrying case with strong disfavour.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Crookshanks said. "Not unless you're going to the vets."

"It looks small," Lucius said eventually. "Particularly for two."

Crookshanks's tail flickered. "Doesn't your pet have one for you?"

"He does not, nor would I encourage him to acquire one."

Crookshanks pondered that. He did not fancy sharing his basket, but neither did he want to be left behind. "There is a very plump mouse hiding behind the wainscoting in the kitchen," he observed. "A clever cat could catch it."

Lucius stretched out a paw and batted the door to the basket. "And yet I think I will inspect the mice at my pet's home, to see if they compare well."

Crookshanks curled his tail round his paws, as if to say, as you wish, which is where Hermione found him some minutes later. She scooped him up into her arms, kissed him, and then escorted him into the basket. Crookshanks gazed smugly through the bars at Lucius.

Hermione picked up the basket, and met Severus by the door. "What about your cat?"

"What about him?"

Lucius mewed imperiously.

"You can't leave him here," she said. "Ron might pick on him, and who would feed him?"

"Ron is still at the Burrow. And Lucius could do with losing a little weight," Severus replied. Lucius sauntered over to his pet and stared up at him with mournful eyes. "Oh sod off, cat."

"Severus!"

Severus fixed his cat with a glare. "Very well, but you're sleeping in the kitchen not upstairs, and if I hear one peep out of you, I shall make sure that there will be no kittens for you, are we understood?"

Lucius mewed.

"Right," Severus said. He unbent enough to allow Lucius to jump up into his arms, where he positively smirked at Crookshanks. "If we're ready?"

Hermione nodded and blushed.

* * *

The kitchen was warm, but short of mice, and Lucius looked as sure of himself as any Persian cat. It was all very annoying. And his pet was making these strange squealing noises upstairs but he couldn't get up there to investigate because there was some invisible barrier across the stairs.

He only hoped she was all right. He'd never heard her sound like that before.

"I think," said Lucius, "that our pets are getting along very well."

"So it seems."

"The sofa needs more cushions, and the rug is a little threadbare. This will need changing to make the place fit for a cat."

"I like the place," Crookshanks said. "The sofa is full of interesting smells, and the curtains are good to climb up, and there is that dark space under the sofa where you can hide and pounce on people's feet when they're not looking."

"I can see you've made yourself at home."

Crookshanks didn't reply but settled his nose on his paws to sleep and to dream of a place like this he could call home. Without annoying white cats.

Unfortunately, whatever goddess that cats pray to did not answer his plea, and Lucius was still there in the morning. His pet was there too, in a shirt that didn't cover her legs, and a dressing gown that was too large for her.

The Dark One kept petting her.

"Someone should tell him he's doing it wrong," Crookshanks said. "He's not even touched her ears once. He should be scratching behind them."

"I'm sure he's been rubbing her tummy," Lucius said.

"I suppose that will have to do."

"She seems contented enough. Perhaps he's been rubbing her ears upstairs."

Crookshanks hoped so. He didn't want his pet going back to the Ginger One because she wasn't getting her ears scratched.

Somehow, they never returned to Grimmauld Place. Supplies were purchased, clothes brought in piece by piece, cushions bought, sofas plumped, and the house slowly made into a home.

Crookshanks dared to hope that things could continue this way. The white cat made no move to enforce their deal and force Crookshanks out, but neither did he leave himself.

Crookshanks had a favourite spot by the fire, and Lucius sat on the arm of the sofa by the Dark One getting his ears rubbed.

His pet didn't seem to mind being neglected in that way, so Crookshanks said nothing. Sometimes his pet even petted Lucius' tummy herself, telling him what a pretty boy he was.

And every night, his pet and the Dark One would go upstairs to bed together, and every night Lucius would try to go with them, and be driven back by the spelled barrier and a quizzical look from the Dark One.

Their life was ultimately interrupted by the arrival of one of his pet's friends, the other Dark One. His pet's Dark One glared at him and invited him into the house, and his pet made tea, and they sat round the table with tea, and biscuits set out on a doily-covered plate.

"I've come to collect Lucius," the Other Dark One said. "It's safe for him to go home now."

The Dark One smirked. "Good. I think he's running to fat here."

Lucius opened an eye, and looked at the Other Dark One sleepily. Apparently, he was satisfied with the decision to leave, jumping down from his perch and settling on the ground.

"I shall miss him," his pet said.

Both Dark Ones exchanged a long look.

"And don't think I didn't realise," she added. "But just think what blackmail material I now have. Are you sure you wouldn't like one last pat?"

Lucius looked like a cat who had bitten into a plump mouse to find it was old and stringy.

* * *

Three weeks later, they had a visitor: a man in robes, with long blond hair and a self-satisfied air. He came again, and again, and Crookshanks was annoyed to see that he was eventually allowed upstairs and all those mewing noises were redoubled, and he got his ears stroked.

Crookshanks sat and stared at the man across the breakfast table, his tail shifting from side to side, then dropped to the ground. He fetched the fat mouse he had found the night before, and dropped it at the foot of Lucius.

"Mew," he said, and patted the man's boot with his paw.

"Indeed," said Lucius. "I quite agree. However, there is nothing I can do about it."

"Mewwwr!"

"No, there is no way, I'm sorry. Not even for three mice."

Crookshanks stared at the traitor to all things cat.

"I do miss being able to lick my genitals," Lucius said.

And laughed.


End file.
